


buried

by Catzzy



Series: Hurt Peter Parker [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt Peter Parker, Lots of Crying, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Tony Stark Has A Heart, buried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 05:56:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18424278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catzzy/pseuds/Catzzy
Summary: Dirt? It feels like dirt.Then it hits him. He’s buried alive - someone buried him here and just left him to die.“No, no, no,” he looks around for anything, even though he can’t see, because he refuses to accept that this is how he goes out, but his mind is confused and panicking and he doesn’t even know where to start.Or, Peter is buried alive and has forty minutes to live.





	buried

**Author's Note:**

> Warning - there’s a major character death

“Is it? That’s crazy.”

 

“It’s true.”

 

“Okay, wait,” Peter said, squinting and slowing down, “I’m thinking about the time I climbed the Monument,” he announced, remembering the climbing, the elevator, Liz; everything.

 

Ned widened his eyes, “when’s the last time you thought about it?”

 

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “like a month ago.”

 

“You’re remembering that time, not the actual time you climbed it.”

 

“That’s crazy,” he said again, pulling his backpack strap, “how do you know that’s true though? It sounds like an unfalsifiable theory.”

 

“Your life is an unfalsifiable theory.”

 

He laughed, “you joke, but that sounds about right,” he said.

 

“Mutant.”

 

“It was a joke, Ned—”

 

Ned stopped, “Oh my God!” 

 

They stopped, and he turned, frowning at Ned’s wide eyes that seemed to nearly bulge out in fear. “What? What’s—” then he felt the sting, which turned into a burst of pain flaring up in his shoulders within seconds, “ow, oh, that—that—what is that? Man, that hurts,” he said, trying to turn his head over his shoulder, making out something long—a stick?

 

“Ned,” he called loudly, “Ned, that’s—what the hell is this? Is that a stick? Is there an arrow in me?” He asked, panicking and voice raising with every word as he tried grasping at it.

 

“It’s—looks like an arrow,” Ned confirmed, equally panicked with his hands hovering over the object protruding from Peter’s shoulder blade. “Wait, let me—”

 

“I’d step away, Spider-Man’s friend,” a voice with a thick accent said, and they both turned around to the man standing at the end of the alley, crossbow hanging low in his hand, and most notably, dressed in a thick, brown fur coat. 

 

Ned looked to Peter, “who the hell is that?”

 

Peter wheezed, looking down at the growing red spot just below his collar bone, “it’s—it’s through! It went through,” he said anxiously before looking up, “look man, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrieked. An arrow. There was an arrow sticking in him.

 

“You,” the man pointed to Ned, “get out of here, or the next one goes through your head,” he threatened, taking a few steps closer.

 

Peter put up his hand against the wall to steady himself, gasping for air and trying not to collapse, “go, Ned, go get help,” he said, one hand over his shoulder and feeling just the tip of the arrow.

 

Ned shook his head, “are you insane?” He almost yelled, “I’m not leaving you here! That guy’s a psycho, he’s gonna—he’s gonna kidnap you or something and—and you’re bleeding, Peter—”

 

“Listen to me,” he said sternly, glancing at the man, “he’ll kill you, he just shot me with an arrow and you can’t heal, just go and—call Happy, or May.”

 

“If I leave, he’ll kill _you_!”

 

“And if you don’t, then he’ll kill you too, just go, I’ll try and get out, Ned, just please go,” he pleaded, and sighed in relief when Ned reluctantly nodded and backed up and down the alley. 

 

He turned back around, “look, man, I don’t know who you think—"

 

“Save it, Spider-Man, I know exactly who you are, and when I defeat you, it’ll be my name they parade in the streets,” he said, coming closer and closer.

 

He lifted up his hand in an effort to throw a web, but his arm shook until he dropped it back by his side, feeling his throat tighten and limbs almost freeze.

 

“Those were poisonous, buddy.”

* * *

“No, because a fur coat and ‘he looked chunky’ isn’t a lot to go on,” Tony shouts in anger, throwing a screwdriver across the lab, which Pepper gasps at.

 

“This kind of stuff happens a lot, they’re usually just trying to scare someone,” Rhodey says, and Pepper points to him and nods in agreement, “they’re probably looking for a reaction.”

 

“From who? You heard the kid, he wanted to take down Spider-Man, and who knows where he is right now,” Tony argues, sighing deeply. “What if he’s dead?”

 

“Everyone just take a breath,” Pepper says loudly, “he’s not dead, 

 

The phone rings, and everyone stops talking, turning around and looking at each other.

 

It takes May a second to realise that it’s her, and as soon as she does, she quickly picks it off the table and presses it against her ear.

 

She smiles with a huff of relief first, and Tony stands up, “Peter?”

 

“It’s—it’s him!” She says, putting it on speaker.

* * *

He wakes up coughing, and in a lot of pain. He pushes up and feels something hard blocking his way, then realizes it’s pitch black around him and he can’t see.

 

He extends his working arm up again and hears the muffled thud as his fists hit the board. “Hello?” He speaks hoarsely, then clears his throat, “hey!” He shouts, banging at the wood again, “hey! Someone help!” He does it again, kicking and making use of his working limbs until the pain in his shoulder flares up.

 

One last powerful kick does nothing except initiate a soft whooshing sound, and he tries to blindly look towards what it is. Water? He reaches down with his arm, as far as he can move, and feels something slither past his finger, which makes him quickly retreat for a second, then reach in again. Dirt? It feels like dirt.

 

Then it hits him. He’s buried alive - someone buried him here and just left him to die.

 

“No, no, no,” he looks around for anything, even though he can’t see, because he refuses to accept that this is how he goes out, but his mind is confused and panicking and he doesn’t even know where to start.

 

He feels his wrist for the watch, which makes him wince before he realizes that where the home button is supposed to be, there are wires and tiny shards of glass. It’s broken.

 

Something moves under him, and he flinches in fear before he realizes whatever it is, it’s vibrating, and he can make out light underneath him somewhere.

 

Awkwardly moving his arm under his other arm, he reaches for the device. A phone. It’s a phone, and it’s on, and he knows May’s number. 

 

And a few rings later, she’s panicking on the other end, and just seconds later, so is Mr Stark. 

 

“ _We’re here, and we’re tracing it now, not even a thing to worry about,_ ” Tony assures him, and then they tell him to call 911 too, which he does, and then returns to the call with May.

 

“Are you sure?” He asks. The only thing preventing him from losing his mind is the fact that May and Mr Stark feel like they are here with him. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

 

“ _You can breathe, baby, just calm down and you’ll have more oxygen,_ ” she tells him, and he listens, trying to even out his breathing so that he doesn’t pass out before they find him. That’s his biggest fear right now; passing out and not knowing what happens next. What if he does and he never wakes up? – Never gets rescued?

 

“Should I try and get out?” He asks anxiously, although he has no idea what he would do if he was to try. 

 

Panicked refusals answer him, “we’re coming, just stay still and be calm,” Tony says, “the more you move and panic, the less oxygen you have.”

* * *

“We’re nearly there,” he says, listening to the long, drawn out breaths coming from the other end, “just hold on.”

 

They dig, pushing out the freshly buried dirt with a definitive orang-ish looking blob glowing underneath. Peter, trapped underneath and _so_ close. “Peter?”

 

“ _Uh huh_ ,” he replies in a tired whisper, over the loud sounds of his struggling breaths. 

 

And they hit it. Tony sighs in relief, looking up at Rhodey, who also nods as he bends over and rests his hands on his knees. “We found you.”

 

“ _Where_? I don’t hear you.”

 

“Right here, buddy” Tony says, hovering up and tightly gripping the edge of the rectangular-like coffin and pulling it open. 

 

What’s the word to describe something like this? He can’t think of a word. It’s worse than a dream shattering or hope faltering. 

 

It’s unsettling confusion and disturbing fear. An obscure feeling creeps up through him when he sees it.

 

That isn’t him. Ears ringing, and then silence – nothing except the sounds of him and Peter breathing collectively; Peter, waiting for the box to open which probably never will.

 

“ _Mr Stark, where?_ ” Peter asks again, and Tony staggers, hands on his head and heart beating so, so loud; breathing shaky and words stuck at his throat, unable to come out.

 

The look on Rhodey’s face is enough to say it all. They won’t find him in time, because he doesn’t have any left, and they don’t even know where he is. Everyone’s out of time.

 

“Why—why would they do this?” Tony asks, sniffling and on the verge of a panic attack, but with the way his heart is beating, trying not to face the void and dread coming next, he wouldn’t be surprised if he dropped dead this instant. He wouldn’t care. 

 

“I don’t—“ 

 

Rhodey places a hand on Tony’s shoulder to stop him from toppling.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it comes out quieter than a whisper, “Peter, I’m so sorry,” he feels like pulling his hair out and _dying_. Laying underneath is another person, another boy breathing shakily and looking much too pale, just like Peter is somewhere underground in some place, except no one will get to him.

 

Rhodey steps forwards, hand on his head, “Tony,” he says, prompting him to look up, “I don’t think…” he trails off, but Tony knows what he’s trying to say, or rather _failing_ to say.

 

 _“No_ ,” Peter says, and it’s so quiet that they both nearly miss it, “ _no, that’s—you said—you said—_ ” and he stops, wheezing, making Tony wish the call would just end and Peter would just appear and say it was some kind of deranged joke with Ned.

 

He kneels down on the dirt, breathing and crying but trying not to show any of it to Peter, “sorry, I’m sorry,” he keeps saying the same thing over and over, knowing it’s not enough for anyone, and definitely not for Peter. 

 

“ _You’re not here_?”

 

“I tried to find you, buddy,” he explains, lips trembling and voice wobbling, “I did. I really tried.”

 

 _“You, uh, you think I’ll ever see you again?_ ,” Peter replies, and Tony can’t tell if it’s just death talk or the oxygen deprivation finally getting to him, but he assumes it’s the latter. 

 

“Yeah, definitely,” he feels like he can’t breathe. 

 

Before he knows it, May’s there, with Happy following helplessly behind. She only peaks down at the other unconscious boy, who isn’t Peter, and staggers back, looking up at him and going around the hole they’ve dug, physically and metaphorically, to sit down beside him.

 

“It’s him, he’s here,” Tony says.

 

“May, it’s—it’s dark, it’s—real dark.”

 

“Yeah, close your eyes, baby,” May says, heartbroken and her words so soft, delicate and almost inaudible, “you close your eyes and—and—” her face scrunches up, and she can’t finish her sentence because she has her hand on her mouth, breathing in raggedly and crying her heart out, holding onto Tony’s arm in solace.

 

“And don’t worry about us,” Tony finishes for her, “don’t panic,” he says, though he doesn’t know why he does because Peter isn’t the one panicking right now, it’s everyone on the other end of the call. “Think about your aunt—think about May.”

 

 _”Ben._ ”

 

Tony nods, even though Peter can’t see, “yep, yeah think about Ben.”

 

May looks up, eyes bloodshot and wet with tears, “save him, save him, Tony,” she pleads, holding onto his collar, and he shakes his head, but can’t make the words come out. He can’t save anyone. “He’s—listen to him, he’s—oh my God, oh my God, Tony, he’s—he’ll—he’ll die! He’ll die!” She says between heart-wrecking cries.

 

The breaths are quiet enough as they are, and under May’s cries, almost non-existent, and he can’t handle consoling both of them.

 

He has to embrace her, to stop her from shaking and completely losing control. And they both quieten down, listening to Peter’s breaths shorten and shorten so quickly until they’re completely gone. 

 

“Kid,” Tony says in the eerie silence.

 

There’s no reply.

 

“No,” May cries, and he can’t comfort her anymore. Both his hands are on top of his head as he panics. Peter died. He just died. How did he just die? They had all these hours to find him and they still had to listen to him die? “No, he’s—he was—” 

 

“I know,” he says, holding her as she cries. He doesn’t know why he says that, but it seems like the right thing to say at that moment.

 

“He’s gone,” she inhales sharply.

 

This time, he doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing _to_ say.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been killing him off a lot lately idk why😭
> 
> Also this is based off that one movie with the same name if yk


End file.
